Newspapers / The Alamance Gleaner (Graham, … / May 24, 1917, edition 1 / Page 1
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We take pleasure in announcing that any of our readers can secure a pretty 1917 pocket diary, free ol charge by sending the postage therefor, two cents in stamps, to D. Swift & Co., Patent Attorneys, Washington, D. C. The diary is a gold mine of useful information, contains the popular and vote received by Wilson ana Hughes from each State in 1916, ana also by Wilson, Roosevelt and Taft in 1913; states the amount of the principal crops produced in eacn State in 1916; gives the census pop ulation of eacn State in J 890, ana 1910; the population of about 600 of the largest cities in the United States, a synopsis of business laws, patent laws, household recipes ana much other useful information. The diary would cost you 25c at a book store. For three cents in stamps we will send a nice wall calendar 10X11 inches. Send five one-cent stamps and get the diary and cal endar. ■ Anything New In I J Your Line of 1 ( Business? 1 1 The People Ought 2 # to Know 1 Itch relieved In M minutes by Woodford's Sanitary Lotion. Nevn. fails. Sold by Graham Drag Co, The Alamanc e Gleaner. KAZAN 1 | BYNOPBIB. I CHAPTER I-Kuw, the wfld Sledge dog, one-quarter wolf and three-quarter "huaky," distrustful of all men because of their brutal treatment Of him, learns to love his master's wife when she Is kind , *o him In new and strange surroundings. CHAPTER ll—He Shows snarling enml- I ty to McCready, who Is to accompany Thorpe and hla wife to the Red River camp. CHAPTER lll—Kazan knows that Mo- Cready la a murderer. McCready stealth ily caresses Isobel's hair and Kazan at tacks him. Thorpe whips Kazan. Mc- Cready tries to murder Thorpe and at tacks Isobel. Kazan kills him and then, fearing the club In punishment, runs away Into the forest. CHAPTER IV—Torn between love of his mistress, the fear of his master's club and the desires of the wolf nature In him, be at length sends forth the wolf cry. CHAPTER V—Kazan runs with ths wolves, lights their leader, becomes mas ter the pack, and matoa with Gray CHAPTER Vl—Kazan and the pack at tack Pierre Radleaon, his daughter Joan and her baby, but In the battle Kazan turns dog again and helps drive off the wolves. CHAPTER Vll—Kazan's wounds are dressed and he la tied to the sledge. CHAPTER Vlll—Pierre and Kazan drag the sledge. Gray Wolf follows at a dis tance. Pierre dies, 40 miles away from their home on the Little Beaver. Under a thick clnmp of spruce Ije put up the tent, and then began gath ering firewood. Joan helped him. As soon as they had boiled coffee and eaten a supper of meat and toasted ( biscuits, Joan went Into the tent and dropped exhausted on her thick bed of balsam boughs, wrapping herself, and the baby up close in the skins and blankets. Tonight she had no word for Kazan. And Pierre was glad that she was too tired to sit beside the fire and talk. And yet— ! Kazan's alert eyes saw Pierre start suddenly. He rose from his seat on the sledge and went to the tent. He drew back the flap and thrust in his head and shoulders. "Asleep, Joan?" he asked. "Almost, father. Won't you please come—soon?" "After I smoke," he said. "Are you comfortable?" "Yes. I'm so tired —and—sleepy—" Pierre laughed softly. In the dark ness he was gripping at his throat "We're almost home, Joan. That Is our river out there —the Little Beaver. If I should run away end leave you to night you could follow it light to eur cabin. It's only forty miles. Do you Rear?" t "Yes—l know—" "Forty miles—straight down the river. You couldn't lose yourself, Joan. Only you'd have to be careful of air holes In the Ice." "Won't you come to bed, father? You're tired —and almost sick." "Yes —after I smoke," he repeated. "Joan, will you keep reminding me to morrow of the airholes? I might for- [ get. You can always tell them, for , the snow and the cruet over them are whiter than on the rest of the Ice, and Tike a sponge. Will you remember— the airholes—" "Yes-s-s —" Pierre dropped the tent-flap and re turned to the fire. He staggered as he walked. "Good night, boy," he said. "Guess Td better go in with the kids. Two days more—forty miles —two days—" KnSan watched him as he entered the tent. He laid his weight against the end of his chain until the collar shut off his wind. Ills legs and back twitched. In that tent where Radiation had gone were Joan and the baby. He knew that Pierre would not hurt them, but he knew, also, that with Pierre > Radlsson something terrible and im pending was hovering very near to them. He wanted the man outside — by the fire—where he could lie still, and watch him. In the tent there was silence. Near er to him than before came Gray i Wolf's cry. Each night she was call , lng earlier, and coming closer to the j camp. He wanted her very near to him tonight, but he did not even whine | In response. He dared not break that I * strange silence in the tent He lay j 1 still for a long time, tired and lame ' from the day's Journey, but sleepless. The fire burned lower; the wind In the ' tree tops died away; and the thick, 1 gray clouds rolled like a massive cur • tain from under the skies. The stars i began to glow white and metallic, and l from far In the north came faintly a j I crisping, moaning sound, like steel j sleigh runners running over frosty j ' snow —the mysterious monotone of the , , northern lights. After that it grew j steadily and swiftly colder. Tonight Gray Wolf did not compass | 1 herself by the direction of the wind, j She followed like a sneaking shadow r over the trail Pierre Radlsson had made, and Hrhen Kazan heard her i again, long after midnight he lay with his head erect and his body rigid, save for a curious twitching of his muscles. There was a new note in Gray Wolfs voice, a walling note in which there' was more than the mate-call. It was I The Message. And at the sound of It Kazan rose from out of his silence I and his fear, and with his head turned straight up to the sky he howled as I the wild dogs of the North howl be ■ fore the tepees of masters who are I newly dead. | Pierre Radlsson was dead. CHAPTER IX. I | Out of the Blizzard. It was dawn when the baby snuggled I close to Joan's warm breast and awakened her with its cry of hunger. I Bho opened her eyes, brushed back the thick hair from her face, and could see r where the shadowy form of her father i was lying at the other side of the tent • He was. verjr quiet __and jhe was I pleased that lie was still sleeping. She knew that the day before he had been very near to exhaustion, and s> for half an hour longer she lay quiet, cooing softly to the baby Joan. Then ' she arose cautiously, tucked the baby | In the warm blankets and furs, put on her header garments, and went out side. By this time It was bro-id day, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the storm had passed. It was bitterly cold. It seemed to her that she had never known It to be-so cold in all fcer life. The fire was com pletely out Kazan was huddled In a round ball, his nose tucked under Ms . body. He raised his head, shivering, as Joan came out With her hgavlly moccaslned foot Joan scattered the ashes and charred sticks where the lire bad been. There was not a spark left. ( Ha Waa Very Quiet In returning to the tent she stopped for a moment beside Kazan, and put ted his shaggy head. "Poor Wolf!" she said. "I wish I had given you one of the bearskins !" j She threw back the tent-flap and entered. For the first time slie saw her father's face In the light—and out side, Kazan heard the terrible moan ing cry that broke from her lips. No one could have looked at Pierre Iludls son's face once —and not have under stood. j After that one agonizing cry Joan flung herself upon her father's breast, sobbing so softly that even Kazan's sharp ears heard so sound. She re mained there In her grief until every vital energy of womanhood and moth | erhood In her girlish body was roused to action by the wulllng cry of baby Joan. Then she sprang to her feet und ran out through the tent opening. Kazan tugged at the end of his chain to meet her, but she saw nothing of him now. The terror of the wilderness 1 Is greater than that of death, and In an Instant It had fallen upon Joan. It was not because of fear for herself. It was the baby. The walling cries from the tent pierced her like knife-thrusts. And then, all at once, there came to her what old Pierre hnd said the night before —his words about the river, the Airholes, the home forty miles away. "You couldn't lose yourself, Jonn." He bad guessed what might happen. She bundled the baby deep In the furs and returned to the fir bed. Her one thought now was {ljat they must have fire. She made a little pile.of birch bark, covered It with half-burnod bits of wood, and went Into the tent for the matches. Pierre Radlsson car ried them In a waterproof box In a pocket of his bearskin coat. She sobbed as she kneeled beside him again, and obtained the box. As the fire flared up she added other bits of wood, and then some of the larger pieces that Pierre had drugged Into camp. The flre gave her courage. Forty miles—and the river led to their home! She must make that, with the baby and Wolf. For the first time she turned to blm, and spoke his name as she put her hand on his head. After that she gave him a chunk of meat which she thawed out over the lire, and melted snow for tea. She was j not hungry, but she recalled how her | father had made her eat four or five j times a day, so she forced herself to I make a breakfast of a biscuit a shred ] of meat and as much hot tea as she could drink. I The terrible hour she dreaded fol | lowed that. She wrapped blankets closely about her futher's body, and tied them with bablche cord. After 1 that she piled all the furs and blan kets that remained on the Pledge close to the flre, and snuggled buby Joan deep down In their. Pulling down the tent was a task. The ropes were stiff and frozen, and when she bad finished one of her hands was bleeding. She plied the tent on the sledge, ani then, half covering her face, turned and looked back. Pierre Radlsson lay on his balsam bed, with nothing over him now but the gray sky and the spruce-tops. Ka zan stood stiff-legged and sniffed the air. His spine bristled when Joan went back slowly and kneeled beside the blanket-wrapped ob>-ct. When she returned to him her face was white and tense, and now there was a strange and terrible look In her eyes as she stared out across the barren. She put him In the traces, and fastened about her slender waist the strap that Pierre had' used. Thus they struck out for the river, floundering knee-deep In the freshly fallen and drifted snow. Halfway Joan stumbled In a drift and ( GRAHAM, N. C., THURSDAY, MAY 24, 1917 fell, her loose hair flying In a shimmer ing: veil over the snow. With a mighty pall Kazan was at her side, and his cold muzzle touched her face As she drew herself to her feet. For a mo ment Joan took his shaggy head be tween her two hands. | "Wolf I" she moaned. "Oh, Wolf I" ' She went on, her breath coming i pantlngly now, even from her brief ex ertion. The snow was not so deep on the Ice of the river. But a wind was I rising. It came from the north and east, straight In her face, and Joan ' bowed her head as she pulled with Ka zan. Half a mile down the river she j stopped, an# no longer could she re press tha hopelessness that rose to her Hps In a sobbing, choking cry. Forty miles! She clutched her hands at her breast, and stood breathing Uk« one who had been beaten, her back to the wind. The baby was quiet. Joan went back and peered down under the furs, and what she saw there spurred her on again almost fiercely. Twice she stumbled to her knees In the drifts during the next quarter of a mile. After that there was a stretch of wind-swept Ice, and Kazan pulled the sledge alone. Jonn walked at his side. There was a pain In her chest. A thou sand needles seemed pricking her fnce, j and suddenly she remembered the ther ' mometer. She exposed It for" a time on the top of the tent. When she looked at It a few minutes later It was 80 de grees below zero. Forty miles! And her father had told her that she could ' make It —and could not lose herself! But she did not know that even her father would have been afraid to face the north that day, with the tempera ture at 30 below, and a moaning wind bringing the first warning of a bliz zard. The timber was far behind her now. Ahead there wns nothing but the piti less barren, and the timber beyond that was hidden by the gray gloom of the' daj. If there had been trees, Joan's heart would not have choked so with terror. But there was nothing— nothing but that gray, ghostly gloom, with the rim of the sky touching the earth a mile away. The snow grew heavy under her feet again. Always she was watching for those treacherous, frost-coated traps In the Ice her father had spoken of. But she found now that all the Ice and ' snow looked alike to her, and thnt there was a growing pain back of her eyes. It was the Intense cold. | The river widened Into a small lake, 1 and here the wind struck the face with such force that herMgeJaWT was taken from the strap, and Kazittl . dragged the sledge done. A few I Inches of snow Impeded her as much as a foot had done before. Little by little she dropped back. Kazan I forged to her side, every ounce of his I mugnificent strength In the traces. By the time they were on the river chan -1 nel again Joan was at the hack of the sledge, following In the trail made by Kazan. She was powerless to help him. She felt more and more the lead en weight of her legs. There was but one hope—and that was the forest If they did not reach It soon, within half an hour, she would be able to go no I farther. Over and over again she moaned a prayer for her baby as she struggled on. She fell In the snoy£t; drifts. Kazan and the sledge became only a dark blotch to her. And then, all at once, she saw that they were leaving her. They were not more than twenty feet ahead of her —but the blotch seemed to be a vast distance away. Every bit fit life and strength In her body was now bent upon reach ing the sledge—and baby Joan. | It seemed an Interminable time be fore she gained. With the sledge'only six feet ahead of her, she struggled for what seemed to her to be an hour before she could reach out and touch It With a moan she flung herself for ward, and fell upon It She no longer heard the wailing of thv storm. She no longer felt discomfort. With her face In the furs under which baby Joan was buried, there came to her with swiftness and Joy a vision of warmth ! and home. And then the vision faded away, and was followed by deep nlglit. Kazan stopped in the trail, lie came back then and sut down upon his haunches beside her, wulting for her to move and speak. Hut she was very still. He thrust Ills nose Into Uer loose hair. A whine rose In his throat, and suddenly he raised his head and sniffed In the face of the wind. Some thing came to hlin with that wind, lie muzzled Jonn again, but she did not stir. Then he went forward, and stood In his traces, ready for the pull, and looked .buck at her. Still she did not move or speak, and Kazan's whine guve place to a sharp, excited burk. The strange thing In the wind came to him stronger for a moment. He began to pull. The sledge runners had front) to the snow, and It took every ounce of his strength to free them. Twice during the next live min utes he stopped and sniffed the air. The third thne that he halted, In a drift of snow, he returned to Joan's side again, and whined to awaken her. Then he tugged again at the end of his traces, and foot by foot ho drugged the sledge through the drift. Beyond the drift there was a stretch of clear Ice, and here Kazan rested. I'urlng a lull In the wind the scent came to him Stronger than before. At the end of tl;e clear I«'o was a narrow breuk In the shore, where a creek ran Into the main stream. If Joan had been conscious she would have urged him straight ahead. But Kuzan turned Into the break, and for fcn minutes he struggled through the snow without a rest, whining more and more frequently, until at last the whine broke Into a Joyous bark. Ahead of him, close to the creek, was u small cabin. Smoke was rising out of the chimney, it was the scent of smoke that had come to him In the wind. A hard, level slope reached to the cabin door, and with the lust strength that was In him, Kazan dragged his bur den up that Then be settled himself back beside Joan, lifted his "buggy head to the dark sky ard howled. A moment later the 'oor opened, A man came out. Kazan's reddened, snow-shot eyes followed him watch fully as he ran to the sledge. He heard bis startled exclamailon as he bent over Joan. In another lull of the idttd there came (row out of the mass of furs cn the HeSge the walling, half smothered voice of baby Joan. A deep sigh of relief heaved up from Kazan's chest. He was exhausted. Ills strength was gone. His feet were torn and bleeding. But the voice of baby Joan filled htm with a Strang* happiness, and he lay down In hla traces, while the man carried Joan and the baby Into the life and warmth of the cabin. A few minutes later the man reap peared. He was not old, Slke Pierre Radlsson. He came close to Kazan, and looked down at him. "My God," he said. "And you did *b*t —alone 1" He bent down fearlessly, unfastened him from the traces, and led him toward the cabin door. Kazan hesi tated but once—almost on the thresh old. He turned his head, swift and alert. From out of the .moaning and walling of the storm It seemed to him that for a moment he had heard the voice of Gray Wolf. Then the cabin door closed behind him. Back in a skadowy corner of the cabin he lay, while the man prepared something over a hot stove for Joan. It was a long time before Joan rose from the cot on which the man had placed her. After that Kazan heard her sobbing; and then the man made her eat, and for a time they talked. Then the stranger hung up a big blan ket In front of the bunk, and sat down close to the stove. Quietly Kazan slipped along the Wfcll, and crept un der the bunk. For a long time he could hear the sobbing breath of the girl. Then all was still. The next morning he slipped out through the door when the man opened It, and sped swiftly Into the forest Half a mile away he found the trail of Gray Wolf, and called to her. From the frozen river came her reply, and he went to her. Vainly Gray Wolf tried to lure hla back Into their old haunts —away from the cabin and the scent of man. Late that morning the man harnessed his dogs, and from the fringe of the , forest Kazan saw him tuck Joan and the baby umong the fura on the sledge, as old Pierre had done. Alt that day he followed In the trail of the team, with Gray Wolf slinking behind blm, , They traveled until dark; and then, under the stars and the moon that hud followed the storm, the man still urged on his team. It was deep In the night , when they came to another cabin, and the man bent upon the door. A light, JJje opening of the door, the Joyous welcome of a man's voice, Joan's sob bing cry—Kazan beurd these from the shadows In which he was hidden, and then slipped back to Gray Wolf. In the days and weeks that followed Joan's homecoming the lure of the cabin and of the woman's hand held Kazan. As he hnd tolerated Iterre, so now he tolerated the younger man who lived with Joan und the baby. Ile_ knew that tl'ie iimn was very dear to Joan, and that tho baby was very dear to him, as It was to the girl. It was not until the third day that Joan suc ceeded In coaxing him Into tho cabin— and thut was the day on which the man returned with the dead and fro zen body of Pierre. It was Joan's husband who first found the name on •5 the collar he wore, and they began calling him Kazan. t ! Half a mile away, at the summit of a huge muss of rock which the Indians called the Sun rock, he and Gray Wolf hud found a home; and from here they went down to their hunta on the plain, and often the girl's voice reached up to them, calling, "Kazan I Kazan! Kuzan I" Through all the long winter Kazan hovered thus between the lure of Joan and the cabin—and Gray Wolf. Then came spring—und the Great Change. CHAPTER X. Ths Qrsat Changs. The rocks, the ridges and the val leys were taking on a wanner glow. The poplar buds were ready to burst i The scent of balsam and of spruce grew heavier In the air each day, and all through the wilderness, In plain and forest, there was the tippling murmur | of the spring floods finding their way i to Hudson's bay. In that great bay there was the nimble and crash of the | ft'e fields thundering down In the early j break-up through the Roes Welcome— the doorway to the Arctic, and for that I reason there still came with the April wind an occasional sharp breath of winter. Kazan had sheltered himself against that wind. Not a breath of air stirred j In the sunny spot the wolf-dog had chosen for himself. lie was more corn j fortable than he had been at any time I during the six months of terrible win ! ter—and as he slept he dreamed. Gray Wolf, his wild mate, lay neaf him, flat on her belly, her forepaws reaching out, her eyes and nostrils as keen und alert as the smell of man could make them. For there was that smell of man, as well as of balsam and spruce, In the warm spring air. She gnzed anxiously and sometimes steadily, at Kazan as he slept. Her own gray spine stiffened when she saw the tawny hair along Kazan's bark bristle at some dream vision. She whined softly as his upper Up snarled back, showing his long, white j fangs. But, for the moat part, Kazan j lay quiet, save for the muscular ! twltchlngs of legs, shoulders and muzzle, which always tell when a #>g , Is dreaming; and as he dreiftned there came to the door of the cabin out on the plain a blue-eyed girl-woman, with a big brown braid over her shoulder, j who called through the cup of her . hands, "Kazan, Kazan, Kazan The voice reached faintly to the top ' of the Sun rock, and Gray Wolf flat- 1 tened her ears. Kazan stirred, nnd in another Instant he was awake and on his feet. He leaped to an outcropping ledge, sniffing the sir and looking /ar ] out over the plain that lay below them. Over the plain the woman's voice came (o them again, and Kazan ran ta the edge the rock ahd whined. Gray Wolf stepped softly to his side and laid her muzzle on hla shoulder. She had grown to know what the Voles meant. Day and night she feared It more than she feared the scent or sound of man. .> Since she had given up the pack and her old life for Kazan, the Voice had' j become Gray Wolfs greatest enemy, „ and she hated It It took Kazan from j| her. And wherever It went, Kazan t] followed. I j, Night after night It robbed her of her mate, and left her to wander nlone under the stars and the moon, keeping faithfully to her loneliness, and never once responding with her own tongue to the hunt-calls of her wild brothers and sisters In the forests and out on the plains. Usually she would snarl at the Voice, and sometimes nip Kazan lightly to show her displeasure. But I today, as the Voice came a third time, I ■he slunk back Into the darkness of a fissure between two rooks, and Kazan 1 ■aw only the fiery glow of her eyes. | Kazan ran nervously to the troll their feet had worn up to the top of i the Sun rock, and atood undecided. All j day, and yesterday, he had been un easy and disturbed. Whatever It was that stirred him seemed to be In the air, for be could not see It or hear It or scent It. But he could feel It. He went to the Assure and sniffed at Gray I Wolf. Usually she whined coaxlngly. I But her response today was to draw back her Hps until he could see her White fungs. A fourth time the Voice came to them faintly, and she snupped fiercely ° •t some unseen thing In the darkness between the two rocks. Kazan went c again to the trull, still hesitating. Then * he began to go down. It was a nar- ' row, winding trail, worn only by the pads and claws of animals, for the Sun 1 rock was a huge crag thnt rose almost . aheer up for a hundred feet above the tops of the spruce and balsam, Its bald j Darted Bwlftly In the Direction of the Cabin. crest catching the first gleams of the tun In the morning and the last glow of It in the evening. Gray Wolf had Orst led Kuzan to the security of tho retreat ut the top of the. rock. When he reached the bottom he no longer hesitated, but darted swiftly In the direction of, the cabin. Becauso of thut Instinct of the wild thut wus ■till In him, he «l\*uya approached the cabin with caution. He never gave warning, and for a moment Joan was Startled when uhe looked up from her baby und saw Kazun's shuggy heud and shoulders In the open door. The baby struggled and kicked In her de light, und held out her two bunds with Cooing cries to Kazan. Joun, too, held I out a hand. | "Kazun!" she cried softly. "Come In, Kazan!" Slowly the wild red light In Kazan's 1 eyes softened. He put a forefoot on the sill, arid atood there, while the gltl urged lilin again. Suddenly his legs ■eerned to sink a little under him, his tall drooped and he slunk in with that doggish air of having committed a crime. The creatures he loved were In the cabin, but the cabin Itaelf he hated. He bated ail cabins, for they all breathed of the club and the whip 1 bondage. I.lke all the sledge-dogs, he I preferred the open snow for a bed, and I the spruce-tops for shelter. i I Joan dropped her hand to his heud. ( 1 and at Its touch there thrilled through \ him that strange Joy that was Ills re- | I ward for leaving Gray Wolf and the wild. Slowly he raised his head until his black muzzle rested on her lap. and j be closed his eyea while that wonder- ' ful little creature that mystified blm so—the baby—prodded him with her tiny feet and pulled bis tawny hair. He loved these buby-muullngs 'even 1 j more than the touch of Joan's hand. Motionless, splilnzllke, undemonstra tive In every muscle of his body, Ku- , zan stood, scarcely breathing. More than once this lark of demonstration j had urged Joun's husband to warn her. , But the wolf Ihat was In Kazan, bis wild aloofness, even his mating with Gray Wolf bad made her love 111 in • more. She understood, and bud faith 1 In blm. In the days of the last snow Kazan 1 had proved himself. A neighboring I trapper had run over with Ids team, | and the baby Joan had toddled up to ; one of the big huskies. There was a fierce snap 'if Jaws, a scream of horror | from Joan, a shout from the men as they leaped toward the pack. But KB | zan wan ahead of them all. In a gray j streak »!.at traveled with the speed of a bullet he was at the big husky's throat. When they pulled him off r the | ' ■ ' husky was dead. Jonn thought of that now, as the baby kicked and tousled Kazan's head. I "Good old Kazan," she cried softly, i putting her fare down close to hlig. "We're»glad you came, Kazan, for i we're going to be alone tonight—baby and I. Daddy's gone to the |>ost. uinl you must care for us while he's away." . She tickled his nose with the end of her long shining braid. This always ; delighted the baby, for In spite of his stolrlsin Kazan had to sniff and some- I times to sneeze, and twig his ears. And It pleased him, too. He loved the sweet , ■cent of Joan's hair. "And you'd fight for us, If you had to, wouldn't you?" she went on. Then she rose quietly. "I must close the j door," she said. "I don't want you to go away again today, Kazan. You must stay with us." Kazan went off to hla corner, and lay down. Just as there bad been some strange thing at the top of the San Rock to disturb blm that day, sp now there was a mystery that disturbed him in the cabin. He sniffed the air, trying to fathom its secret Whatever It was, it seemed to make hla mistress different, too. And she waa digging out all sorts of odds and ends of things about the cabin, and doing them np In packages. Late that night, before she went to bed. Joan came and anoggled her band close down beside hlm for a few moments. "We're going away," she whispered, and there was a curious tremble that was almost a sob in her voice. "We're going home, Kazan. We're going away down where his people live— where they have churches, and cities, and ma nic. and all the beautiful things In the world. And we're going to take you, Kazan I" Kazan didn't understand. But he was happy at having the woman so near to blm, and talking to him. At these times he forgot Gray Wolf. The dog that was In hlm surged over his quarter-strain of wlidneaa, and the woman aiflT the baby alone filled hla world. But after Joan bad gone to her bed, and all was quiet In the cabin, his old uneasiness returned. He rose to bis feet and moved stealthily about the cabin, sniffing at the wails, the door and the things his mistress had done Into packages. A low whine rose in his throat. Joan, half aaleep, heard It, and murmured: "Be quiet, Kazan. Go to Bleep— go to sleep—" Long after that, Kazan stood rigid in the center of the room, listening, trembling. And faintly he heard, far away, ihe walling cry of Gray Wolf. Rut tonight It was not the cry of lon* linens. It sent a thrill through blm. Re ran to the door, and whined, but Joan was deep In slumber and did not hear him. Once more he heard the cry, and only once. Then the night grew still. He crouched down near the door. Joun found blm there, still watchful, still llHtenlng, when she awoke In the early morning. She came to open the door for him, and In a moment he was gone. Ills feet seemed scarcely to touch the earth as he sped In the di rection of the Sun Rock. Across the plain he could see the cap of It already painted with a golden glow. lie came to the narrow winding trail, and wormed his way up It swiftly. Gray Wolf waa not at the top to greet him. Rut he could smell her, and the scent of that other thing was strong In the air. Ills muscles tightened; his legs grew tense. Deep down In &ls chest there began the low rumble of a growl. He knew now what that strange thing wus that had haunted him, and made him uneasy. It was life. Some thing that lived and breathed had In vaded the home which be and Gray Wolf had chosen. He bared his long fangs, and a snarl of defiance drew back his lips. Stiff-legged, prepared to spring, his neck and head reaching out, he approached the two rocks between which Gray Wolf had crept the night before. She wus atill there. And with ber was something else. After u mo ment the tenseness left Kazan's body. Ills bristling crest dropped until It lay flat. Ills ears shot forward, and he put Ills head and shoulders between the two rocks, and whined softly. And Gray Wolf whined. Slowly Kazan backed out, and faced the rising sun. Then he lay down, so tost his body shielded the entrance td the chamber between the rocks. Gray Wolf was a mother. TO BE CONTINUED. WOMAN'S PART IN FIRE PRE VENTION. lloti'U For Women. Il is worth your consideration lo give fitt«utioii to Itio following list of "Ijeu'ta," iiiHtiy of which tnny not ap|>«al lo yon at, first, but ail will tvs you consider and think over the matter. Their considera tion and observance menus much for you and the safety of your properly and children. Don't leave matches where chil dren can net them, (G'hildreu are great imitators). Don't have a gas light where the wind will blow a curtain against il. (Many lires are started in this «»})• Don't |rut ashes in wooden boxes or barrels or near the house or outhouses. Keep them in metal receptacles until they are hauled away. Don't use indoors, tf you have u> use it, use il out of doors. (A woman in Springfield, Mass., went into a bathroom and closed the doors and windows and started lo clean a pair of silk gloves in a pan of gasoline. The fumes from Ihe gasoline filled the room, ami when she rubbed the gloves together it made a spark. An explosion followed, killing the woman and wrecking the house). Don't use kerosene to start fires. Don't use kerosene on floors or walls as a polish. Don't look for a gas leak with an open light. You might find it. (When there is gas escaping, cut off the gas where it enters the building, open the windows, and send for the gas man). Don't make a light as long as you can sinell gas. Don't turn on the gas until after you strike the match. 4 Don't allow rubbish to accuinu late in your house or your yard. Don't let your neighbor impose on you. When you prepare your premises, s°e that your neighbor docs the same. (Report it to-the Fire Chief. Ho won't use your name). v , Dou't use any matches except safety matches. NO. 15 GRAHAM CHURCH DIRECT OB Graham Baptiat Church—Rev. WI Jj R. Davit, Paator. Preaching everji first and third >'*■ Sundays at 11.00 a. m. and 7.00 p. - Sunday School every Sunday at 1 9.45 a. m. A. P. WilUama Supt " Prayer meeting every Tuesday at S 7.30 p. m. Graham Christian Church—N. Main . Street—Rev. J. F. Trait*. Preaching aervicea every Sec ond and Fourth Sundaya. at 11.04 a. m. Sunday School every Sunday at 10.00 a. m.—B. L, Henderaon, Super intendent. New Providence Christian Church —North Main Street, near Depot— , ' Rev, J. G. Truitt, Paator. Preach ing every Second and Fourth Sun- \ day nigbta at 8.00 o'clock. SI Sunday School every Sunday at #.46 a. m.—J. A. Baylift, Superin tendent. Chrlatlan Endeavor Prayer Meet ing every Thursday night at 7.48. o'clock. Friends—North of Graham Pub lic School—Rev. Fleming Marrlw, I i Pastor. Preaching Ist, 2nd and 3rd Sun days. Sunday School every Sunday at 10.00 a. m.—James Crisco, Superin tendent. Methodist Episcopal, south—cor, Msin and Maple 8t„ H. E. Myers Pastor. Preaching avery Sunday at 11.M • a. m. and at 7.80 p. m. Sunday School every Sunday at 4.46 a. m.—W. B. Green. Supt. M. P. Church—N. Main Street. Rev. R. S. Troxler, Pastor. Preaching first and third Sun days at 11 a. m. and 8 p. m. Sunday School every Sunday at 9.46 a. m.—J. L. Amick, Supt. Presbyterian—Wat Blm Street- Rev. T. M. McConnell, pastor. n Sunday School every Sunday at 9.46 a. m.—Lynn B. Williamson, Su perintendent Presbyterian (Trsvora Chapel)— I. W. Clegg, pastor. Preaching every Second and Fourth Sundays at 7.30 p. m. Sunday School every Sunday at. ! J. 30 p. m.—J. Harvey White, Su perintendent, Oneida—Sunday School every Sunday at 8.30 p. m.—J. V. Pome- r roy, Superintendent PROFESSIONAL CARDS E. C. DERBY Civil Engineer. GRAHAM, N.C. Nilloul lukd Alaaaan rrr| 3 BURLINGTON, N. C, Boom IS. Ist Nalloaal lak —IMI—. -Plume 470 JOHN J. HENDERSON AMoraey-at-Law GRAHAM. N. C. Olllcc aver Nitliaii B—k wl Al—mmaf "*> : J", S. C OOS, Atterney -at • Las*, , GRAHAM, N. a I Offlce Patterson Building I Second Floor. ..... : OH. WILL S. LOAG. JR. . . . DENTIST . . . arahsm, . - - ■ Nsrth Carellaa 4 OFFICE IN. SJMMONH BUILDING A (OB A. LONG. i. KLMJtB LOHO, LONG A LONG, Attorn*/! and CoanMlora at LIW GHAHAM, H. 0- ft .'H , JOH N H. VERNON * Z Attorney sad Counseior-at-Lsw , PON KM—4 lire U&J Healdenee all t BUKL,INGTON, N. C. l ________________ 'ij Dr. J. J. Barefoot i r orncK ovKB UADLEY a BTOBK Leave Messages at Alamance Phar . macy 'Phone 97 Residence 'Phone b 182 Office Hours 2-4 p. m. and by Appointment. ; DR. G. EUGENE HOLT Osteopathic Physician h 11. XX sad fl First Nalloaal Baak* >14,. r BURLINQTON, N C. Stomach and Nervous diseases a 1 Specialty. ' ('hones, Office 305,—res idence, 362 J. f . . 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The Alamance Gleaner (Graham, N.C.)
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May 24, 1917, edition 1
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